Magnolias know not of sinful taste;
uncomplicated as they are,
I could be wrong, (and I sometimes am)
but I sense, you feel it too,
don’t you?
I’ll give you
adoration,
certainty without caveats,
and a lasting embrace
for every
gorgeous
inch
of you.
Photo credits: ‘The Lovers Series,’ by Puczel, Pinterest
Merril is our hostess today at dVerse and the word
is “embrace.” Come join us! 💝
If we must speak, let it not be in vain;
they continue to defile apple-core of centuries old rectitude—
what have we come to?
I run my hand through the tangled mess of hair
on impulse;
every time, I switch on the television, genocide no longer
just a word,
who is responsible and why?
My lips stain like boysenberry twilight
when I think about the farmer’s protest, thousands
and thousands
of innocents fighting for their rights—
thank you cabinet, you push us deep into loam,
sand of bone
and then peer in through the curtained windows
and walk on;
is this what it means to be part of the sub-continent?
I favor the bold,
cultured youth whose hands grip hard on the pen;
they excel in the art of creating a raggedy winter nest
made out of plum twigs—
can you tear your gaze away from the view?
In odd and exposed minutes of a dream there is absence of chaos;
where women folk are free to converse,
waltz after hours,
I confess, my eyes water at the very thought!
Night is a dewberry ripening around a buttery moon;
I yearn for a taste,
I yearn for a taste with no expectation of anything in return.
#farmersprotestindia
#rapeculture
Photo credits: Alexander Zimin, oil on canvass, Pinterest
Lillian hosts OLN at dVerse and refers to writers as a part of a “Circle of Love.” I couldn’t agree more! Come join us! 💝
Posted for Open Link Night #283 @ dVerse Poets Pub
Corkscrewing, a wisp of pale smoke rises into the air;
hold me,
if one day I happen to pass through the colonnades of your mind—
war wears disquiet like a favorite black dress,
the shade of her lips urging sea grasses bend double
in silence.
Imagine a shore that bears unrest,
a child’s laugh without mirth and humor;
one by one
the soldiers have laid their lives, embraced the gravel,
the unspoken,
the very aspects of dwelling and death—
I get tired of people trying to tell me what ache is, waves white
crashing to and fro,
I won’t describe what it feels like only that
a betrothed hasn’t slept a wink for many nights; whispers, erupting
inside the soft cartilage structure of ear.
If, at any moment in time you too can relate,
meet me,
the moth grey sky recounts the roseate hue of sand; the roseate hue
of sand.
Do we ever forget?
Photo credits: “Bending Seagrasses,” by Laurel Daniel, oil 40×30
Bjorn hosts at dVerse and discusses the long history of war
poetry that dates back to Homer. Come join us! 💝
Raven’s cry is more or less likely to be believed;
it strikes
until its cursive plumage is mere murmurs of rawness
against the cloudless sky—
a little to the left,
tell me, how many aspects of the game are you willing
to throw shade upon?
Like dark fury that seeks to cross paths with coyotes,
I stake claim at the center,
I love that eloquence is twirling on its heels at my side—
deny me safety, deny me dwelling,
it’s quite clear as to where we are headed;
a couple more moves,
shoulder to shoulder,
as onlookers watch and then egotism too was gone.
Process note: I was thrilled after watching the Queen’s Gambit
on Netflix a few days ago, so much so that I decided to portray a chess move called “The Sicilian Defense,” in a poem. It’s an excellent defensive opening by black in a game of chess. I chose to use a raven both as metaphor and representation.
Photo credits: Fabian Perez Painting, Pinterest
Skylover Wordlist: Dwelling, aspect, eyes, raven, denies, below, shade, less, eloquent, cloudless 💝
Ravens bring things to people. We’re like that. It’s our nature.
We don’t like it. — Peter S. Beagle, A Fine and Private Place
Peter hosts at dVerse and invites us to consider opening lines.
Come join us! 💝
Airless and unloved, in the dank basement of the mind is past
personified;
its slender hands stretching out like those of a clock,
is it such a sin to relive the minutes, the hours?
Ice melts to reveal what once had lain beneath;
acres of muddy fields,
their steady heartbeat awaiting first light, similar to when rosebud
sprouts endings
into bloom inside— neither can we breathe nor can we hope to achieve
sweet slumber,
the past is a shadow that lingers,
that follows into days that reflect a future existence;
I throw a handful of untidy words into the open, taste coffee
in my mouth long after the day is over
and watch
as they land, eloquent, because of the seeds sown; the present is a harsh
but wonderful lesson.
There are things we can discover about ourselves if we step into the light,
it’s just a blockage of a kind; it’s just a blockage of a kind.
Photo credits: Winter Color #2 by Trisha Adams oil 11×14, Pinterest
Inspired by “Airless and unloved, in the dank basement of the mind.”
– L Igloria ~ A Reparation.
Laura hosts at dVerse and invites us to consider and write about
endings and offers some final lines. Come join us! 💝
Posted for Poetics: Beginning at the End @ dVerse Poets Pub
Glossy on the snow-washed street,
winter continues
the sky is of rolling clouds, a thousand shades that range
from abalone to stone
as beech trees cry their last tears in the half-morning light—
here hope is ash coloured
yet the darkling sits, unperturbed;
and I wonder, if the snow loves it dearly?
I don’t have the slightest inkling about what happened
to my heart,
how it healed,
four-chambered muscular organ that sings: cardinal red
and emotionally scarred.
Perhaps, it too is aware of mournful lyrics,
of how everything goes around,
of how it’s conducted.
I kissed the lips of the cold surrounding me,
qualms blurred.
If winter can be formidable then why can’t we?
Photo credits: Trisha Adams, Winter Color Series 12″x6″ oil, Pinterest
Merril hosts at dVerse and invites us to think, to reflect upon connections -in any sense. Come join us! 💝
